An Offer Accepted
by PhantomPenguin
Summary: Phryne thought back to that electrifying kiss on the air strip, that single, fleeting brush of his lips against hers, the dark look of intent in his eyes, in her own voice as she uttered those words, "Come after me, Jack Robinson". And, there it was—as direct an admission of ownership as she would ever utter. A post-Season 3 reunion fic, because everyone needs at least one.


Weeeell, I'm back to the wonderful world of writing fanfic after a notable break, fabulous new fandom in hand. I got finally got around to watching the show a few months ago and was hooked. And now, inevitably, I'm writing for the fandom.

Reviews are delightful, especially since I've yet to actually write for these characters.

Hope you enjoy!

* * *

Phryne's mind churned furiously as she strode along the shore, the warm Mediterranean wind catching her sheer wrap and sending it billowing dramatically behind her. She couldn't slow her tumultuous thoughts, her emotions and memories and musings pouring out in an unquenchable flood. Her heart was engulfed in a surge of sentiment, a raw, open wound oozing all the emotional disquiet she had lately been repressing.

The Honourable Miss Phryne Fisher prided herself on her composure, on her whimsical, fun-loving nature, great intelligence and quick wit, and her concrete status as a Modern Woman. She answered to no one, felt no guilt in anything that brought her joy or pleasure, and seized her moments where she found them.

She had packed up for a cross country plane ride to Europe without second thought, whisking her father away on a meandering route back to her mother. They had made multiple stops as they went, sliding into place amid the local gentry and indulging all sorts of various companies.

Phryne, however, found that she could not derive the same joy that she once had from new encounters, could not throw herself into an evening out with the same reckless abandon that she had once so enjoyed. Every touch was Jack's: his hand on her wrist, her arm, her shoulder. Every kiss against her cheek (against her lips) was his slightly chapped mouth, followed by a low, "Miss Fisher". Even a mere look from another man brought her no great pleasure-she saw only strikingly green eyes beneath a hooded gaze.

"Argh!" She threw her hands in the air and strode to the end of the long boardwalk, gripping the sun-warmed wood beneath tightly-curled fingers. "I am no kept woman, to be pining after one man," she told the water defiantly, "no matter how wonderful a man he is." She raised her chin defiantly and surveyed the sparkling waves with a disdainful glare. "He has no hold over me, no claim to who I am."

Her traitorous mind snickered. _But can you say the same for him?_ And Phryne thought back to that electrifying kiss on the air strip, that single, fleeting brush of his lips against hers, the dark look of intent in his eyes, in her own voice as she uttered those words, "Come after me, Jack Robinson".

And, there it was—as direct an admission of ownership as she would ever utter, spoken by her own lips in the presence of the two witnesses she'd least prefer. All of the fight fled her as the thought passed, and she flopped to the wooden walk with a dull 'whumph', dangling her feet out above the water and resting her head against the wooden handrail before tilting her chin up to face the sky.

She sat there at the end of the pier, her toes just skimming the waves that rose up to meet them, casual in such an unladylike manner yet not caring in the slightest. With her hands resting on the dock behind her and her face cast up to meet the sun's warm rays, she appeared to not have a care in the world.

In reality, her mind was racing, turning over the whirlwind of emotions that had taken her by storm. She had intended to simply get out of her rented this morning—enjoy the fresh air, clear her mind, and mull over the details of the remaining leg of her journey while watching the waves. Truth very seldom matched ambition, however, and she found herself instead lost in thought, her musings turning repeatedly to a particular detective inspector.

"Come after me, Jack Robinson," she had said—and oh, did she wish he would! She had long passed the point where this man's obvious care for her made her question her standing as a modern woman—he never challenged her independence nor obstructed it, and she cared for him even more as a result. Indeed, it was her own uncharacteristic devotion which gave her pause. She would, on occasion, in the dark of night with none around to bear witness, even admit to herself the true depth of her feelings, that she didn't just _care_ for Jack Robinson, that she instead loved him more truly and unconditionally than she had ever cared for another.

He was Jack—he was noble and true of heart and intent, and ever so righteous. Her greatest joy was in making him laugh, cracking through his stern façade to reveal the intensity and passion of the man beneath. And oh, that kiss—she shuddered despite the warm coastal air, her lips turned up in a delicious smirk. If he were even half so thorough in the other physical aspects of a relationship then she might very well self combust.

Jack—hardworking, honest, steadfast Jack. Mr. Proper, following every societal convention like an emerging society dame, adhering to every book of etiquette to the letter and walking on his side of the line despite her every diligent attempt to drag him across to hers. Always worried about her honor—she was quite honourable on her own, thank you very much, and if she wasn't concerned with people's opinions, why on earth should he be?

Phryne Fisher had learned from a very early age that while money most certainly could not buy happiness, it worked most effectively to facilitate it. If you were counted among high society, the world could go to rot around you and not pay your tendencies any mind, so long as it got the chance to periodically toss about some gossip.

Heaving a long-suffering sigh, Phryne kicked her legs back and forth above the water, staring contemplatively down at the rolling surf. She'd watched a ship dock earlier that morning that was bound for London after a brief stop in Monaco—a few well-placed inquiries had informed her that there were no shortage of passenger spots available, should she be of a mind to "hop ship", so to speak, on her flight plan and travel by sea instead. She would never audibly admit it, but she was rather weary from spending so much time airborne, despite the exhilaration and sense of freedom it continuously instilled within her.

She had hopped from Melbourne to Papua New Guinea, then to Singapore, and Sri Lanka, her father in tow all the while. They'd worked their way across Southwestern Asia until finally, upon landing in Crete, her father had hauled himself over the side of the plane, slithered to the ground, and declared he must have at least three days on land before "facing that propeller-based airborne demon once more".

For her part, Phryne wasn't too put off by the delay. She, too, was nearing the end of even her infamously deep energy reserves. Sitting here, with the warmth of the sun on her face and its rays reflecting off the span of sparkling water before her, she couldn't even muster the will to move.

Ignoring the stares of passing tourists, she flopped back against the warm wooden boards of the walkway, flinging an arm over her eyes and sighing.

"So, is there a reason for your current state of repose, or is it simply a demonstration of your particularly keen flair for the melodramatic?"

Phryne shot upright at the sound of the amused, achingly familiar voice that rang out from somewhere above her head. She rocketed to her feet faster than a spooked cat, blue eyes wide with astonishment as they took in the tired, slightly disheveled figure standing before her. "Jack!" she exclaimed. "How on earth-?"

He offered an almost shy half smile and shrugged a shoulder. "You'd mentioned some telegrams ago that you were planning to stop in Greece, so I took a gamble. Came in this morning with the ship in the bay." His mouth twitched. "I kept hearing talk of a plane that had landed piloted by a 'beautiful society dame', and that said woman was currently making a spectacle of herself out on the public pier."

To be fair, Phryne heard nothing past "this morning", so her lack of reaction at his teasing dig could be excused to some extent. Tentative as Jack had ever seen her, she stepped forward and placed a hand on his chest, feeling his heartbeat thrumming beneath her fingers. "You're here," she breathed, "you're really here."

Suddenly she laughed in delight, teeth flashing in a broad smile, and all but threw herself into his arms. Burying her face in his neck, she wrapped her arms around his broad shoulders and squeezed, determined to never let him go. "I was beginning to think you weren't going to come," she murmured, drawing her head back to meet his suspiciously bright green eyes.

"It might be that your invitation was as close a declaration of feeling as I might get from you, Miss Fisher," he replied, arms still wrapped snugly about her waist. "I wouldn't ignore that for the world."

And there he was, her steadfast, dedicated, gloriously loyal Jack. She gave a choked little laugh and met his lips halfway, smiling into the kiss and pushing back the little voice chiming in her ear that she still had at least one more emotional declaration within her power to share. For now, though, she was content to stand here in his arms, lost in his embrace and reveling in the sensation of finally being home.

His lips pressed against hers, shifting their touch from a welcoming caress to a more urgent friction. Her heart fluttered when he nipped at her lips, and she moaned into his mouth as he slid one broad hand beneath her blouse and across the bare skin of her back. "Jack," she said throatily, drawing back and giving him a long look from beneath heavy lids.

"Miss Fisher," Jack met her gaze with a perfunctory nod and a twitch of his lip, his heavy breathing and dark eyes the only indication of the break in his stoic façade.

Phryne raised an eyebrow, her look of heavy ardor shifting to an arched look as she pinned him in place with her stare. "Really, Jack?" Her voice was droll. "Miss Fisher?"

He laughed outright and she closed the distance between them once more, chasing his smile with her own mouth, licking his lips before pressing herself against him and twining her arms around his neck. Their lips slid against each other in a ferocious caress, a give and take that passed rapidly between sides, neither party seeking a victory but instead determined to simply draw out their bout as long as they possibly could.

When Jack finally pulled away, chest heaving and eyes slightly wild and hair even more deliciously mussed than before, Phryne felt such an overwhelming surge of love for this man—this man who had chased her across the world—that she would have staggered had he not held her firmly in his embrace. "Still Miss Fisher, Jack?" she asked lowly, hiding her flustered state behind their usual banter.

He gave a soft growl, the merest rumble in his chest that she would never have felt had she not been pressed against him, and put his lips to the shell of her ear. "Phryne." His acquiescence was the softest caress of breath against her cheek, and her heart flipped at the sound of her name rumbling from his lips.

He knew it, too, damn him, judging by the smirk on his face.

"I know it's a quiet day," he murmured, "and a foreign country where we are –relatively- unknown, but perhaps we could go somewhere more private to continue this discussion?"

"Why Jack Robinson, are you propositioning me?" She laughed, low and throaty, when he instinctively stepped back, putting a more respectable distance between them.

"No, Miss Fisher, I believe you made me an offer first—I seem to recall an airfield and an invitation, and a kiss that was far too fleeting." He set his hat back on his head from where it had been unceremoniously knocked to the ground, and gave her a pointed look from beneath the brim.

Phryne laughed outright and tucked her arm into his, nestling in close to his side. "It just so happens that I have rented a small villa just down the road," she informed him, trying to ignore how her heart fluttered at the contact. "We'll just need to evict my father once we arrive."

Jack gave a bark of laughter. "I might prefer to take my chances on the street rather than disturb Henry Fisher after a late night gambling."

Phryne's eyes narrowed and she smiled a predatory smile. "I live to disturb my father."

They walked along the waterfront, her arm interlocked through his, her head resting on his shoulder, their casual nonchalance belying the deep passion that lay simmering just below the surface. Her free hand curled about his larger one where it rested on her wrist, fingers drawing teasing caresses along the lines of his veins and the inside of his wrist.

Jack shuddered and turned a heated gaze upon her. "If you continue on in such a manner, Miss Fisher, I can make no guarantee that we will ever actually _arrive_ at this villa of yours."

"In what such manner?" and she turned to him with such a look of pure innocence on her face that he lost the moment and burst out laughing.

Phryne joined him, something-some as-yet-unnamed foreign _thing_ -fluttering in her heart as she did so. She was no fool, she knew how deep her feelings for this man ran, knew how much she was willing to sacrifice to keep him safe. It was the fact that these feelings emerged _only_ for Jack Robinson that terrified her. So much of who she was-the woman she had created after her abuses by Rene-was built upon the foundation of freedom, of never being tied to a single man. She had sworn to always remain free to jump from one lover to the next as she willed.

But now... _now, you don't_ want _to,_ her mind whispered, s _o do you_ need _to_? The thought came roaring in, a single epiphany dropping like a bucket of ice water down her back. She was who she was because ishei had decided it-if she suddenly decided something different, well, then, _that_ would just be who she became.

She laughed out loud, a sudden, piercing sound so full of joy that it stopped Jack in his tracks.

"Phryne?" he queried.

She laughed again and grabbed his hands, pulling them into a shaded alcove just off the walkway. "Oh, Jack," she exclaimed, "I've been so foolish-here I was thinking that I'd betray myself if I admitted it, but it's not betraying myself because I'm still me."

Jack shook his head, perplexed. "What on earth are you talking about, Miss Fisher?"

Her eyes darkened and she gripped the lapels of his coat, pulling him down to her level. "Jack Robinson," she said, slowly, deliberately, "I love you-only you. I am in love with you-and _only_ you. I can think of no other man _but_ you, no matter what other company I am in." Impulsive to her core, ignoring the fact that it was broad daylight and that tourists were passing along just outside their little shelter, she crashed her lips to his, seeking to imprint with conviction every word she had just uttered.

Jack's body sang at the contact, electrified by her touch. He was lost in her embrace, her hands at his neck and her chest pressed to his searing her touch into his skin. Her lips against his were charged, the tension that had hung between them for so long finally released to the air.

He growled into her mouth and, in a single smooth move, hoisted her into the air and pressed her back against the building behind them, his hat flipping off his head to the ground below. "Well, Phryne" he murmured, shifting his lips to trail kisses along her exposed neck, "I'm sure you are well aware that I love you too."

Abruptly he drew away, easing her back to the ground. "And," he added, ignoring her distressed mewl of discontent, "if we can continue on our way, it would be my very distinct _pleasure_ to show you just how much."

Phryne snaked out a hand and grabbed his arm, curling her fingers around his wrist in a loving caress. She met his eyes in a serious gaze, drawing so close that he could feel the whisper of her breath against his lips once more. "Come after me, Jack Robinson," she murmured, then broke away and dashed out onto the street, pausing only to cast him a brilliant smile over her shoulder.

Running a hand through his completely ruined pomade, he broke out in a broad grin and set his hat back on his head. "Always, Miss Fisher, always."


End file.
